Extreme Ways
by Aya-kun Rose
Summary: Remember the scene where he drags Nicky down into the subway? This is that scene. Call it a mininovelization, if you will.


Author's Note: This is a scene taken directly from the move The Bourne Supremacy. All dialogue (and I guess the situation/action) was written by Tony Gilroy. But the rest of it is mine. Please don't sue.

Extreme Ways

She stood a single unmoving figure alongside the open Alexanderstrasse, surrounded by casually strolling civilians. They moved about in small groups or alone, but they all had places to go, warm destinations comforting and out of the freezing Berlin weather. She alone remained in one place. Up above, she could see the men on the different rooftops, although she tried not to look directly at them and give them away. If they were here to protect her, she wanted to help them in any way she could.

It struck her as odd that none of the natives seems to notice the men with binoculars and rifles all pointed at a solitary woman. But then, she knew what was going on, was in touch with the dark world of covert ops. She could tell that the man getting out of the car behind her was one of theirs, just by the way his hand came up to his ear for a brief moment. She quickly turned away, again not wanting watching eyes to know what she knew.

One pair of eyes, in particular. And even though the common folk couldn't tell an agent as he walked past them, Nicky knew who they were. She also knew that there was no way from keeping Bourne from knowing, too.

Nicky continually scanned the crowd, nervously, not knowing exactly what she was looking for. Maybe for the ground agents who were supposed to keep her safe. Maybe for Bourne, but deep inside she knew that he would get to her before she had any idea that he was near.

Her uneasiness rose as a loud group of people carrying banners began to fill the Alexanderplaz. From nowhere, it seemed, they flooded the entire area, shouting and jostling all around her. With deepening concern, her searching eyes moved faster, trying to pick out some comforting shape. She spotted one of their agents. Maybe he would come for her, pull her out. Maybe the unexpected protesters made it too dangerous for her to be there. But the man didn't move, so maybe she was still safe. She wished she knew what Landy was thinking—she had a wire, but it only worked one way.

There were no comforting thoughts that perhaps Bourne would think it too dangerous to approach her now. If anything, the added crowd helped him blend in. Hell, he probably planned on it.

Suddenly it came. A bright ring, then again. She pulled Landy's cell phone from her jacket pocket, pressing the button to answer. She still had agents all around her, and on the roofs. They wouldn't send her anywhere that was too dangerous for them to handle.

"Hello?"

"There's a tram coming towards you. Get on it." It was a low, collected, male voice flavored with a slight hoarseness. _His_ voice. Warning alarms went off in her brain, but she remained calm. _Just do what he says, and nobody gets hurt_—the clichéd words shooting unwanted across her thoughts.

Her head turned as she listened to his brief instructions. There it was, a bright yellow German tram pulling up in front of her to her left. As she made her way toward it, she still wondered if she would be intercepted, taken out of this mad game. She wondered if getting on the tram was a fatal idea. What if it took her out of the protective sights of the sharpshooters? Would Landy approve of this compromising turn of events?

The phone went back in her pocket, and she pulled on her gloves. Even as she crossed in front of the tram to the door she looked back around, hoping she would see some encouraging sign. Nothing. She stepped up into the vehicle, brushing past those getting off, and glanced one last time before fully entering.

The tram began to move, taking her with it. She stood near the front, hardly any distance from the door through which she had entered, and waited. She watched the faces of the people that were packed together shouting outside. No one she recognized.

She couldn't help but look behind her. Only the young man who had come after her onto the tram. She turned forward again, then shifted so that she faced the aisle leading to the back of the car. But she tried not to search the faces of those seated or standing.

Then, suddenly, the driver announced "Alexanderplaz," and some other instructions in German that she hadn't studied nearly well enough. The doors opened, and those around her began to exit. She watched the few people around her step down. The tram had only traveled around the corner to another side of the same place.

Then it came, just as sudden as the phone call. A hand with an iron grip took hold of her right arm and led her off the tram. She gasped, startled, and knew that it was not one of the ground men. It was Bourne. Her breath caught even more as he pulled her through the thick crowd.

"Jason, please don't hurt me." She'd meant to say it so that the people listening back at the Hub would know what was happening to her. But she realized that she really was honestly pleading for her safety.

"What were my words, what did I say?" They were still moving, at an uncomfortable pace, through the sea of protesters. "I said leave me alone. Leave me out of it."

"I did, I swear. Jason, I—I told them that I believed you." They were moving towards the subway entrance, and she realized that once they were down there, he could make sure that nobody was able to find them.

"I'm gonna ask you some simple questions," he spoke quickly, in a straightforward and honest manner. She threw a final glance over her shoulder, hoping somebody—anybody—was there to save her. Nobody. "You're gonna answer me honestly, or I swear to God I'm gonna kill you."

Starting down the steps into the darkness, she believed him.

Once they made it to level ground, he began his interrogation, but never slowed the pace. "Who's Pamela Landy?"

Nicky didn't even think about lying. It was as if he would be able to know, somehow. "She's a task force chief."

"Is she running Treadstone?"

"No, she's--she's the deputy director." He looked behind them as she spoke, making sure no one was following them. His grip was like fire through her layered clothing.

"Why is she trying to kill me?"

"Last week an agency field officer tried to make a buy off of one of her ops." Her voice wavered from the forced pace. They had passed through the stiles and were now speeding along the platform. She still had to take a flurry of steps to keep up with his stride. "He was trying to sell out a mole or something--"

"And?"

"And you got to him before we did," she said, almost incredulous. How could he not know what he had done?

"_I_ killed him?" Apparently he really didn't know, for he hissed the words in disbelief.

"You left a print!" she insisted, in the same tone. "It—there were partial prints that trace back to Treadstone, they know it was you."

"That is insane."

She just didn't understand. "Why are you doing this? Why—why come back now? Landy will find--"

Her words were drowned under his and cut off by his action. Pulling on her arm, he pushed her against a piling, holding her there with his face just inches from hers. "Just stop. _Stop_." She listened, taut, breathless, and the places where he had touched her were clear in her memory, seeming to burn.

"Last week I was 4,000 miles away, in India. Watching Marie die." This was the first she had ever seen his face so clearly, so close. His intense eyes bored into hers, completing a frighteningly predatory visage raw with exhaustion, fury, and honesty. "They came for me, and they killed her instead. This ends now."

He pulled her away from the piling, and gripped her arm tightly once more. Roughly he pushed her towards a large door in a corner up ahead. Both threw glances over opposite shoulders; both looking for the same people, she wanting them, he satisfied that they weren't there. He reached ahead for the handle, and pulled her inside before him, the force making her gasp.

He turned from shutting the door firmly behind him, and pushed her violently into the right-hand wall of a small, unused room. She felt the gravity of her situation as she thudded against the cold surface. He was no-nonsense now, and if for whatever reason he felt that she was lying, he'd have no difficulty carrying out his threat.

"What do you people want with me? Why are you trying to frame me?" He stood close, towering over her, voice raised. Ruthless.

She pressed her back to the wall, desperate for more space between them. The fear had welled up inside her and was almost bursting as she spoke, involuntarily taking a tone that was half sob, half beg. "Please, I'm only here because of Paris. Abbott dragged us—"

He cut her off, searching for specific answers. "Abbott, who's Abbott?"

"Conklin's boss, he, he, shut down Treadstone." She stared back into his haggard face, struggling to find the words that would keep her alive.

"Is he here? In Berlin?"

"Yes," she whispered, face contorted with fear.

In the same commanding manner Bourne pressed on. "Did he run Treadstone?" She couldn't answer, fighting to keep her breath under control. He became more urgent. "Did he run Treadstone?"

She spoke, voice uneven, to stop the yelling. "Yes, Conklin reported to him. Please, please, I swear."

He took a step back, then continued on. "Alright, what was—" he seemed to have trouble of his own forming the questions, "—what was Landy buying, what kind of files?"

Coming at her so intently, she couldn't help but turn to her side, trying in vain to get away from him, to protect herself. "Conklin—stuff on Conklin. It was something to do with a Russian politician."

He said nothing, pulling away slightly, his stream of questioning diverted. Looking back to him, she saw his features confused, like a thought had come to him, but he had trouble putting it to words.

"Neski," he said, finally.

That threw her off; she didn't understand what that meant. "What? What are you talking about?"

He stared back at her in that same unintelligible way. Then he resumed his questioning, leaning in and pinning her to the wall with a fiery hand on her shoulder. "When--when was I here in Berlin?"

She cowered under him, but could do nothing. Still she was confused at what he was asking. "What? What are you talking……"

Her voice faded away, and his came again, strong. "For Treadstone. You know my file. I did a job here. When?"

She could only say what she knew. "No, you've never worked in Berlin before…"

He pressed it again, louder, even more insistent. "My first job. In Berlin. I did a job here, you know my file."

"You've never worked Berlin before." Tears were starting to sting at the corners of her eyes.

"My first job," he repeated

"No, you're first assignment was Geneva." That was in his file, that's what she knew. But she couldn't make him understand.

Furiously he cursed. "You fucking people!" He shoved her to the floor as his gun appeared in his hand, clicking it out of safety, pressing it to the side of her head as she let out a terrified cry and turned away.

"Oh, please, I swear! I swear!" she cried frantically.

"I know I was here, Nicky!" his voice blanketed her wild pleading of "It's not in your file, it's not in your file!"

He seemed to take no notice of her excuse, yelling down at her pathetic form, his voice cracking. "I _know_ I was here!"

"You never worked in Berlin before, I swear, oh, please, please." Her voice died away in a broken sob.

Long, anxious seconds stretched out with her life ever closer to ending. He was quiet, no longer shouting, but the gun still was heavy against her skull.

Then he was gone, the gun lifted, her head swiveling on its own accord, pinned sideways no more. The door slammed, and she was alone in the cold room with her sobbing. She felt no relief in being alive, and she could not be glad that he had left. She only huddled there on the floor, tears streaming down her twisted face, clenched with utter terror of his return.


End file.
